


Waiter, There's a Pup in My Soup

by ComeHitherAshes



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Blind Date, Business Rivals, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Perfect, and things don't go quite according to plan, and yet at the same time they go perfectly, if you call Athos loudly knocking on all boardrooms before entering, just in case he sees something he really doesn't want to, sarcastic bastards and their cuddly ways, somebody write or headcanon the trevelieu dialogue for me please, the boys setting up their boss, their sass has evaded me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-20 02:38:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3633576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComeHitherAshes/pseuds/ComeHitherAshes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I think we can all agree that Treville needs a distraction."</p><p>Porthos made a grumpy noise of agreement. "The guy's got too much time on 'is hands, y'know 'e has a bonsai now? A bonsai, an' the little clippers that go with it."</p><p>"Actually, I bought him that after I found him alphabetising his bookmarks – on bonsai." Athos shrugged when Porthos gave him an incredulous look. "I thought it would help him, something creative."</p><p>"He talks to it."</p><p>Athos muttered something vulgar in French, and Porthos echoed the English into his pint. Clearly, something drastic was required, and Aramis has just the idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiter, There's a Pup in My Soup

**Author's Note:**

  * For [queenaramis (ladyofbearisland)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=queenaramis+%28ladyofbearisland%29).



> A gift, for the excellent prompt of:  
> "Modern AU where the boys set Treville up on a blind date with some lady, and then spend the entire meal spying on them. Bonus points for Aramis being the one to pick out the lady / d’Artagnan spilling water all over them / “we’re not actual waiters” shenanigans."  
> But we re-negotiated for it to be OT3 setting up Treville with Richelieu, because I'm a sucker for power dynamics.

"It's quite simple, we—"

"Kill the Batman?"

Athos raised one very unamused eyebrow at Porthos over the little table they had commandeered at their local bar. "If we could refrain from the popular culture references." Porthos' smile dared Athos to stop him. "As I was saying, I think we can all agree that Treville needs a distraction."

Porthos made a grumpy noise of agreement – and one of annoyance that Athos hadn't risen to the bait. "The guy's got too much time on 'is hands, y'know 'e has a  _bonsai_  now? A bonsai, an' the little clippers that go with it."

"Actually, I bought him that after I found him alphabetising his bookmarks – on bonsai." Athos shrugged when Porthos gave him an incredulous look. "I thought it would help him, something creative."

"He talks to it."

Athos muttered something vulgar in French, and Porthos echoed the English into his pint.

"Why don't we set him up with someone?" Aramis asked from under the table, where he had been fishing for a straw he had dropped. When he arose, it was to meet their two horrified faces. "What?"

Athos recovered first, one hand falling flat onto the sticky table as the other held his glass. "Aside from the fact that you were definitely trying to cop a feel just then – Porthos?"

"Yep, same here."

Aramis' grin was completely unabashed and Athos tried his best to ignore it – it was difficult, Aramis had that look in his eye, the one that said,  _of course a bathroom stall will be big enough,_ and Athos still had the bruises to disprove that.

"Aside from that, you think the best way to deal with this is—"

"—Gettin' Treville laid?"

"Crude, but accurate," Athos affirmed, and he and Porthos shared a nod before returning their sceptical gazes back on Aramis, who was drinking some neon coloured cocktail through a twisty straw.

"You're telling me that pruning tiny plants isn't a sign of someone who wants to get their rocks off?" Aramis asked in between licks of sugar from the rim of his glass.

"Aramis, please," Athos winced. "The less I think about Treville's love life, the easier I sleep at night."

Porthos weighed his head to the side, completely ignoring Athos' plea. "I'd wondered whether he 'ad some secret mistress stashed away somewhere. He's not bad for a guy with grey hair."

Athos blinked at them both over the sticky table, and would have shuddered had he been predisposed to that sort of thing. "I've seen it all now – and I really wish I hadn't. What are you going to do, set him up on  _Blind Date?_ "

"Lorra lorra laughs," Porthos murmured to Aramis' snicker, and Athos decided to mentally check out of this entire conversation.

There was a reprieve in the form of d'Artagnan flinging himself into the fourth chair. "Sorry I'm late."

"How's Constance?" Aramis asked innocently of their newest member who had, somehow, already forged himself a place in their lives.

"Fine, she's—" d'Artagnan glanced at them suspiciously. "How did you know I was with her?"

Athos looked up from his glass with a curve of his mouth. "The lipstick on your collar was a bit of a giveaway."

Aramis tilted his head the side, his smile growing at the same rate that d'Artagnan's frown was. "Really? It was the perfume for me."

Porthos nodded thoughtfully, as if they were discussing a scientific theory. "Yeah, light, sweet."

"Like fresh flowers in a sunny meadow," Aramis added with delighted drama.

"Shut up," d'Artagnan muttered, and scrubbed at the faint red smudges on his neck – only a few of which came off, the rest were rather beneath the skin.

"D'Artagnan," Aramis ventured bravely, and Porthos grinned at the minute curve of Athos' lip when he saw where this was going. "You're a clever, innovative,  _sensible—_ "

"—No."

Aramis gestured widely with his bright little umbrella. "You don't even know what I'm going to say!"

"Whenever you start like that, I know it's not going to be good," d'Artagnan said with a firm shake of his head, and Athos would have laughed had the boy not then pointed at him. "Athos taught me that."

"Athos," Aramis said, sounding as scandalised as a matron who had just seen a girl showing her ankle, "how could you?"

"He's learned from experience, not from me listing your devious ways," Athos replied wryly. "Let the boy make his own mind up. Would you say that Treville has been rather overbearing, as of late?"

"Understatement of the century," d'Artagnan groused, and Aramis nodded happily.

Porthos cleared his throat with a wicked grin. "Aramis wants to set 'im up with someone."

" _What?_ " D'Artagnan yelped, almost climbing into his chair at the barbarity and making Athos and Porthos laugh. "Who?"

Aramis didn't wait a beat. "Richelieu."

" _What?_ " Athos and Porthos both turned on Aramis, their whispered shouts echoed by d'Artagnan.

"Are you  _insane_?" Athos hissed, leaning forward to make their huddle even smaller as d'Artagnan nervously cast glances around the room in case the walls had suddenly grown ears.

"Let me get this straight," Porthos growled, and Athos spared half a moment to deal with the little shiver at the sound of it before nudging Aramis when it looked like he wanted to hear it again, against his neck. "You wanna set up our boss, with the boss of our rivals?"

"With  _Richelieu?_ " Athos said again, as if hoping he had heard wrong.

"Who famously eats people?"

Aramis opened his mouth to defend himself, but paused, as they all did, to frown at d'Artagnan. Porthos cuffed him on the back of the head, lessening the terrified tension of the room. "Cardinal, not cannibal, you idiot."

"Cardinal's not much better," Athos remarked dryly of Richelieu's nickname, smiling at d'Artagnan's pout when Aramis leaned over the table to ruffle his hair. "A man less in touch with God I've never met."

"Say that to the contracts he keeps winnin'," Porthos grumbled. "An' what makes you think they aren't gonna kill each other over that latest shit storm with the Treasury?"

Aramis swirled his drink with an idle hand. "Did you know that they used to see each other?" A storm of denials answered that. "It's true, you three weren't here at the time. It was what prompted Richelieu to leave – the rules were a lot stricter then."

D'Artagnan eyed the three of them and their open secret. "You don't say."

"Treville got promoted, spent more time at work, Richelieu wasn't happy, and jumped straight into the top seat of our rivals. By all rights, they should hate each other, and yet there's that undeniable tension."

"Yeah, the tension of two people wantin' to kill each other."

"You've not seen them together outside of a work environment."

Athos raised an eyebrow, a remarkably difficult feat to manage nonchalantly when there were scant few inches between everyone. "And you have?"

"I have eyes everywhere,  _mon cher_ —"

"—An ear at every door," Athos interrupted with a roll of his eyes.

"An' a key for every lock," Porthos completed, and Athos' lip twitched at Aramis' pretence of affront.

D'Artagnan gave them a reluctantly impressed look for – what he called – their powers of telepathy. "I guess it's not completely crazy." Aramis was the only one to beam at him. "Well, just look at you two."

Athos looked at Porthos and back at d'Artagnan. "What do you mean?"

"You used to hate each other when Porthos first showed up."

Porthos' grin was very much for Athos alone. " _I_ never 'ated 'im."

"Detestation is more the word, for my part," Athos mused, and smirked at the flash of teeth that told him he would pay for that, later.

D'Artagnan rolled his eyes. "Yeah, if you could not, right now, thanks."

Porthos took his time breaking Athos' intense gaze, and then he chuckled. "Fine, why not, I've been bored."

Athos didn't react to the thigh that pushed between his, but simply curled his fingers over Aramis' knee. "You know this will get us landed with the worst jobs if you're wrong."

"If not killed," d'Artagnan added brightly.

Porthos leaned back in his chair, surreptitiously nudging apart Athos' legs as he looked at Aramis. "So, what's the game plan, sweet?"

"It's very simple," Aramis began, and Athos cut a slowly grinning Porthos a look when he went to open his mouth.

"Don't you dare."

 

* * *

 

"Athos, move your leg."

"I have been sat here quietly for five minutes, you're the one that keeps fidgeting."

"I'm uncomfortable!" Aramis whined, and Athos distractedly dragged him onto his lap, trying not to smile at the contented noise Aramis made as he settled against him. There were still a few aches from where fresh bruises had overlaid the old ones from that cursed-too-small bathroom, but Athos ignored them in favour of making Aramis comfortable.

They were fading – for now – anyway, too busy in the last two weeks to think about much other than this ill-fated plan of Aramis'.

They were crammed into an alcove at the far end of their favourite restaurant, hidden by half a wall and a tall pot plant – the latter of which was giving them a leafy view of a table set up for two.

A fourth waiter almost stumbled over them, situated as they were right next to the staff room, and Aramis apologised for his long legs, and then explained for the eighth time what they were doing there.

"I cleared it with your manager, I think she found me amusing," Aramis said the last with some surprise, as if it wasn't the outcome he had been expecting, but it appeased the waiter enough to send him on his way.

Athos snorted into Aramis' neck, resisting the urge to kiss him there when they were in so public a place. "Didn't succumb to your charms, did she?"

Aramis made an indignant noise, one that caught the attention of a passing server, who shook his head and smiled at the sight of them. Athos raised a hand to beckon him closer, shifting Aramis to his other leg when he continued to fidget. "The table at the far end? It should be set for three, but only two people will come."

The waiter's expression turned into one of confusion, and Aramis offered him his best smile – and this time his charms worked. "We're setting two people up on a blind date, but they don't know that yet."

"You're a danger to society," Athos murmured into the soft hair at the base of Aramis' skull when the waiter tripped off to rearrange the table at the behest of Aramis' smile.

"Are you going to quarantine me?" Aramis replied, his voice sly and suggestive and completely inappropriate for the situation.

Athos' hand landed on Aramis' wriggling hip. "You are not helping matters," he remarked, his voice a little strained, and he huffed an exasperated laugh when Aramis turned to rub his nose along Athos' jaw.

Fortunately, before Athos' blood pressure could reach awkward levels, they both looked up to see an interested grin. "No, go on, I wanna see how this plays out."

Athos hid the twitching of his lip in Aramis' hair. "Take him away from me, Porthos, he's too distracting."

"It's a skill," Aramis announced, and wiggled happily when Porthos squeezed down beside them.

Athos tried to make his sigh sound frustrated, but the blunt fingers that tugged at the back of his neck made it sound a little different.

The final waiter left the staff room for the evening, and their soft laughs at the man's indignant expression filled their hiding spot.

 

* * *

 

"This isn't gonna work."

"When have my plans not worked?" Aramis asked airily, and even d'Artagnan joined in on the sceptical glance. The boy had shown up a little after Porthos, skidding to a stop by their alcove and immediately giving them a dubious look.

_In a restaurant, seriously?_

_You know that last stall, in the pub—_

_Oh, my God, please shut up._

"What times did you give them?" Athos asked, gaze rapt on his watch as his thoughts threatened to skitter elsewhere, to more pleasant pursuits.

"I gave Treville the later time because he's always early, and Richelieu the earlier one because he likes to keep people waiting."

Athos looked up in surprise, the incline of his head impressed. Aramis bowed, and Porthos murmured something about a reward if all this went well. D'Artagnan looked away in amused disgust before ducking behind the half wall. "Heads up."

Porthos threw himself against the floor. "Shit on it, Richelieu's here."

"Did they change the table?" Athos asked in a whisper, and Aramis nodded, choosing his hiding place as right up against Athos' chest – and his arms around Athos' waist. Athos looked down with a half-repressed smile to see Aramis grinning happily up at him.

Richelieu stopped short upon seeing the table, his eyes narrowing at the three empty place settings before focusing on his watch. In what would have been called a tantrum on a child, Richelieu sat down in a huff and ordered some outrageously expensive wine.

"The beauties of the business credit card," Porthos said quietly, peering over the half-wall with d'Artagnan at his side. Aramis' fingers were making an undeniable trip under Athos' shirt, and no amount of glaring was stopping him, until Porthos whispered, "Treville."

The four of them froze, peeking at the far table like children.

Treville hesitated for the barest of moments, seeing his rival sat at their table, legs crossed and sipping at a glass of something golden. To his credit, the voice that just barely floated their way over the clink of cutlery was actually quite cordial. "Ah, Richelieu, I didn't know this was a joint meeting."

Richelieu must have looked away from his menu for no more than half a second. "Your powers of observation are remarkable, Treville – tell me, is that how you managed to wriggle your way back into Louis' good graces?"

Treville had been removing his jacket, but at that, he cast one glance around the room and leaned on the table to whisper something furious.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Porthos muttered, and Aramis hushed him.

Richelieu's snide little laugh had the opposite effect, because Treville sat down with a determined look on his face and ignored the daggers Richelieu was sending his way.

"It's the death glare, it's happening," d'Artagnan whispered, and with that, Richelieu stood in a fury of affronted dignity.

"Sit down, you look like a fool," Treville said idly, leaning back in his chair with a menu in his hand as if he hadn't a care in the world. "Unless you're too scared to spend an evening with me?"

Their alcove turned into the audience of Jerry Springer, mostly courtesy of Porthos and d'Artagnan, and Aramis hid his laugh in the crook of Athos' neck.

"Please," Richelieu hissed, but sat down to say it, "the only thing I'm scared for is my reputation if I'm seen cavorting with an ignoramus such as you."

"Hot damn, they really get under each other's skin, don't they? Never seen Richelieu lose 'is cool so fast."

"Told you," Aramis added, and then quoted with a laugh, " _cavorting?_ "

"I wouldn't laugh too soon." Athos' eyes were trained on the glass in Richelieu's hand, the one that looked like it was about to be thrown in the direct vicinity of Treville's face.

"Distract them," d'Artagnan offered, and when they all looked at him, shrugged. "I don't know, send them oysters, compliments of the chef."

"That's not a bad idea, actually." Porthos snagged a passing waiter, but was met with shrugged shoulders and a shaking head. "They can get us the oysters, but they're too busy to bus 'em."

D'Artagnan glanced up from the wall. "No."

Athos tried not to smile and aimed for indifferent. "Richelieu knows what we all look like."

Porthos nodded sombrely, returning to his spot next to a slowly backing away d'Artagnan. "Yeah, you're still new blood, he won't know you. S'gotta be you, Pup."

"I'll put in a good word with Constance?" Aramis offered, and at that, d'Artagnan's expression changed to hopeful.

Porthos grinned, mouthed  _nice one_ over the boy's head, and frog-marched him into the staffroom. The oysters arrived on the arm of a very harried but amused looking waiter, one who managed to balance a salad and a soup in one hand before rushing off.

A very grumpy d'Artagnan was suddenly shoved through the door with a victorious Porthos at his back, and the boy stuck his middle finger up at them when they called encouragement as he walked off, oysters in hand.

Athos laughed softly when he saw Aramis' satisfied smile. "Why do you look like this is all happening as you wanted it to?"

"Because it is,  _mon cher_ , can't you see?"

Athos looked over at the table to see the two men practically snarling over their wine. "They hate each other."

"It's a good cover, I'll admit."

Porthos didn't look away from the table to add, "You think it's a hate-boner?"

Athos scoffed an outrageous denial, and Aramis peeked at him from under his eyelashes. "Want to bet on it?"

 _That_ made Porthos look away, his grin growing when he saw Athos hesitate. "Go on, I'll take that bet. They'll go 'ome together."

Aramis' smirk tilted higher at one corner as he held his hand out. "They'll jump each other in the car park."

"Get out," Porthos laughed, but shook Aramis' hand anyway and shrugged at Athos' disbelieving expression. "Even if I lose, this is still the funniest thing I've ever seen."

"Fine, I'll bet with you,  _but_ ," Athos enforced the exception and Aramis glowered, "there has to be irrefutable proof."

Aramis scowled, and was joined by Porthos'. "That's impossible."

Athos gave a slight shrug. "Those are my terms."

Aramis waited, taking his time as he looked Athos up and down, knowing Athos' look of nonchalance was getting harder to keep up when Aramis held his lower lip between his teeth. "You drive a hard bargain, Athos de la Fère." Their hands met, and Aramis added in a sly whisper, "I'm going to enjoy my reward."

Athos turned Aramis' hand until he could brush a kiss over his knuckles, and his smile made Aramis shiver. "I'll enjoy mine more."

Porthos clapped his hands together in dark delight. " _I'm_ enjoyin' everythin' about this."

D'Artagnan reappeared to collapse against the wall of their alcove. "I know who isn't."

"You're covered in soup," Athos noticed in as neutral a fashion as he could. D'Artagnan's appropriated white shirt was splattered with orange, and his chest was heaving as if he had run back to them.

"I'm not the only one."

Aramis' hand clenched on Athos' as he whispered angrily, "Treville  _saw_ you?"

"In between the soup falling into his lap? Yes!" D'Artagnan's sarcasm was cut short by a clamour beyond their hiding place. "I was stood behind Treville, he couldn't see me, but once I'd done the oysters I backed into another waiter – it was a mad house!"

There was a litany of curses in three languages, and then Athos heaved a sigh and rested his fingers against his forehead. "Get them a bottle of wine – it's coming out of your paycheck."

D'Artagnan made a high-pitched noise of protest, but was silenced by Porthos' growl and a hand on the scruff of his soiled shirt as he dragged him into the staff room. "Sometimes you act just like the Pup we named you."

D'Artagnan's protestations drifted away and Athos was left with Aramis staring at him in surprise at his helpful idea. Athos smirked, and took the quiet moment as a chance to crowd Aramis against the wall.

"You can't charm your way out of this bet,  _mon cher_ ," Aramis murmured, but he lifted his chin regardless, showing Athos the smooth length of his neck.

Athos ghosted his lips over his skin, but pulled away to say against Aramis' ear, "I could buy them all the champagne and oysters in the world and they  _still_ won't get together."

Aramis lowered his chin with an unimpressed look, and Athos would have scoffed at the paltry attempt at subterfuge when Aramis' gaze darted over his shoulder, except that then he whispered, "Fuck, run!"

Athos was suddenly confronted with the feeling of being twelve years old, and terrified glee rushed through his veins as he tried to push Aramis ahead of him.

A palm clamped on his shoulder.

"Merde."

"You have no idea," Treville snarled.

 

* * *

 

Athos hopefully eyed the fire exit door where two waiters were leaning against the wall, cigarettes in their hands and looking far warmer than where the four of them had been banished to.

"Don't even think about it, Athos," Aramis murmured from his new hiding place, this one in Porthos' warm arms.

Athos flicked him an unhappy look and then dug his fingers into his pockets, not even complaining when d'Artagnan nudged a little closer and his cheek rested on Athos' shoulder.

"You smell of soup," Athos murmured, and it was that dour statement that set the four of them laughing, starting quiet and ending raucous, until Athos was grinning and scuffed the top of d'Artagnan's head. "You did well, today."

D'Artagnan snorted, returning to Athos' side with a sigh. "And so begins my new career as a matchmaker."

"S'long as it ain't a waiter."

D'Artagnan kicked some gravel in Porthos' direction, which set them snickering again, but they fell silent when they heard a familiar voice on the wind.

Two familiar voices.

Aramis murmured something about winning his bet to Porthos, and Porthos' short bark of laughter was like the crack of a gun.

There was a muffled whispering, and then Treville appeared at the end of their alleyway, expression furious. "What are you four still doing here? I thought you'd gone."

"You told us to wait here, sir?" Aramis asked, and was the first to notice the bottle of wine clutched in Treville's hands. It wasn't either of the two that had been on the table.

"I didn't think you'd listen to me," Treville muttered. There were two very high spots of pink on Treville's cheeks, and they darkened into red when something that definitely sounded like a deliberate cough came from around the corner. "Get out of here, all of you – and I expect to see you in early, tomorrow."

"Of course, sir," Athos murmured, looking suitably chastened, and only smirked once Treville's back was turned. "Irrefutable proof, remember? I'm not admitting defeat yet."

"Nah, you never do, even when you're beggin'—"

D'Artagnan's wide-as-saucers eyes snapped shut when Athos smacked his hand over Porthos' mouth and pointed at the car park with the other. "Yep, I'm going, I'm going."

He didn't realise he was running from the frying pan to the fire until he saw two figures rather hastily pushed against Treville's car.

There wasn't enough bleach in the world that would remove those images from his head.

Although, they weren't all bad, because the shocked look on Athos' face when he noticed a new bonsai in Treville's office was worth all the soup mishaps in the world – even if Aramis' smile was far more salacious than saccharine.

It took Treville a week to notice the little sign Porthos had planted in the soil of the pretty, flowering bonsai; flowering cursive that spelled out:  _Bossus Bangus_.

They were put on shit detail for a month.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, find me and the rest of my prompts on [Tumblr](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com)!


End file.
